


Play With Me

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Name-Calling, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's had a shit day. It's about to get a lot better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% the fault of badassbethgreene and farahdixon. If it's OOC blame them.
> 
> Thank you to Mary for suffering through a kink she doesn't have.

Daryl rolls his neck as he walks down the well-lit street, adjusting his bow on a sore shoulder. He last saw this street over 15 hours ago when he set out for work, tired from the long day before but no less functional. Now he feels ready to fall off his feet.

It's been an absolute buttfuck of a day.

It started normally enough. Signing in with his supervisor, setting himself and his crew up at the edge of the woods to guard the construction crews reinforcing the north wall. Rick had told Douglas when they arrived about the system Terminus used to divert herds, so all Daryl usually got was the rare straggler, easily taken down with a bolt through the head before it even cleared the brush. Today, though, one of the cranes decided to break down; the rookie working on it cut the wrong line and the whole damn thing exploded, taking five crewmen and half the wall with it. Emergency crews were able to divert most of the walkers, but they still got a sizable herd—Daryl lost four guards fighting them off, and spent three hours chasing the handful that slipped through the ruined wall through town. In the middle of it all it had begun to rain; not hard enough to wash the grit from his skin, but just enough to make it grime, turn the side-roads to mud. Even Daryl, who's perfectly comfortable forgoing showers until Beth begins to complain, feels disgusted with the guts cracking on his skin.

Daryl feels his shoulders lighten a little as he sees the bright yellow mailbox come into view. It was the first thing Beth did, when she moved in with him those months ago—said it had always been her dream, to have a little house with a yellow mailbox, daffodils in the planter. They haven't gotten around to the daffodils yet, but the mailbox is bright as a canary; it points the way up the short flight of steps to their small, square house on its little plot of lawn. Daryl whistles to Amber as he passes her lying on the grass; she lifts an ear in acknowledgement before going back to sleep. He honestly can't fault the bitch.

The house is dark and warm and familiar and Daryl takes a moment to breathe in deeply through his nose, open his mouth and taste the air that smells of her. Of both of them, really, but some days he can't distinguish between them anymore; doesn't like to remember those days before she arrived, when he put in shifts this long every day just to distract himself, with the vague thought that while she surely would have frowned on him putting a bullet in his mouth, she couldn't fault him for working himself to death. Carol spent a lot of time here, then; the whole of the prison group seemed to take shifts with him. Even Tara and Abe dropped by sometimes, with excuses of borrowing weapons or getting tracking advice—but he knew why. Rick would have asked them to, and for a man accustomed to loneliness Daryl suddenly found himself never alone. If she had taken any longer to reach him, he probably _would_ have gone mad.

He stands in the foyer and breathes them in and smiles a little through his exhaustion, remembering. Remembering how she never even asked to live with him; had just followed when he led her from the entry clinic, waited under the eaves until he took the hint and carried her across the threshold. When she smiled a wrinkle on her forehead cut right through the circular scar, and that was the first time he truly believed she'd come back to him.

Thinking of Beth, his feet carry him without thought towards the stairs. It's nearly 11; she must be asleep by now, curled up in their small double bed, maybe in one of his shirts, or the flannel kitty pajamas she loves. Assigned to the daycare, she has shorter hours than he does, although she still spends most evenings working the wall. She says it's so she can feel useful, but he knows the real reason—it wouldn't do to forget the heft of a bow or lose the strength of a trigger finger, safe inside these walls. He knows how badly she wants this, to stay and build a life; but neither of them, none of them, forget how easily that could vanish.

 _Gotta go see Vinetti's widow in the morning,_ Daryl thinks, trudging wearily up the stairs. _Singh was single, but fuck, Murray and Lee got kids... wonder if Rick's willing to do something for them, medal of valor or some shit. Extra rations for a while won't mean much._

He tries to push the thoughts from his head; they don't belong here, in this house. All he wants right now is to shuck out of his filthy clothes, wash his face, and collapse into bed. It's laundry day tomorrow anyway, it doesn't matter if he gets the sheets dirty; and Beth might grumble, but she won't mind, not really; he knows, because no matter how bad he smells when he crawls in beside her he always wakes up curled around her like a sea anemone, her face buried in his chest or his arm across her belly, like even in her sleep she feels the call to be close to him. One time when he was buried deep inside of her, perhaps the fifth time they had done it and the first time he'd taken her against the wall, she whispered that she liked him a little dirty sometimes; had planted his filthy fingers on her pale white stomach and watched with open mouth the difference in their skin tones, the flecks of grime he left as he rubbed against her. He came harder than he ever had, that time; although every time feels harder than the last, with her. He's done things to her little pink body he's never imagined doing to anyone, let alone sweet Beth Greene, with her babydoll eyes and sweetheart lips, the cheeks that blush when couples so much as kiss in front of her. He's seen that blush go as far as her stomach when he has her spread beneath him or bouncing in his lap; he's the only one who knows the words she whispers to him when they're done, of the things she wants to try, the way she wants his hands on her. When she first came back to him all he could think of was keeping her safe, touching her like a relic and worshipping like a penitent; she put an end to that, soon enough, sinking her teeth in his shoulder or her nails in his ass and begging _faster, harder, make me_ feel _it, damn you, Dixon,_ and even if it didn't turn him on more than anything before in his life, he would have been helpless to resist.

He almost wishes it were earlier, so he could take her once before sleep, lose himself in her small soft body. She usually doesn't mind when he wakes her; he's endlessly astonished, by her want for him. But tonight's the rare night he doesn't know if he could get it up, even for her. In the morning, maybe; after today, Alisha couldn't fault him for coming in a few hours late, and Beth doesn't need to get in until nine; a smile twitches his lips as he think of her body stirring beneath him as he laps at her clit, watching her face with careful eyes for that telltale twitch, the moment of waking. Or maybe he'll take her into the shower with him; close his eyes and let her scrub the grime from his body, following soap with lips and tongue, ending in a crouch between his legs or spread eagled against the wall. In the hundreds of times they've had each other he's never stopped wanting more—more of her skin, her body, her curves, her lips. He can wait one more night for them.

He's so caught up in his thoughts, he doesn't notice the strip of light coming from beneath the bedroom door until he pushes it open and stops in his tracks.

He might have thought he didn't have the capacity for sex, but his cock seems to have other ideas. It jerks in his pants, _hard_ , at the sight in front of him: little Beth Greene, butt naked on her stomach on their bed with her legs towards the door, ankles crossed in the air and a bright pink butt plug sparkling from between her cheeks.

His crossbow sliding from his shoulder alerts her to his presence, and she gives a little jump, butt cheeks tensing. She must know it's him, though; he sees the edge of her smile through her curtain of loose hair just before she turns her head, staring back at him with a gleam in her eye that almost makes him take a step back.

“Miss me, tiger?” she asks.

Daryl swallows down a whimper.

“Fuck yes,” he whispers.

He sees her choke back a giggle, lips pursing before they relax back into her coy smile.

“Heard you had a hard time today,” she says, waving her ankles in the air. His eyes follow them like a hypnotist's metronome, flowing down her long smooth calves to the curve of her ass. “Thought you deserved a surprise.”

“Where'd you—“

Beth glances back at herself. “This thing? We're part of a functioning society again. What'd'you _think_ the first stuff they'd start selling would be?” Beth looks back at him, grinning. “You like it?” she asks, in that low, sultry voice no one would expect Beth Greene could make.

“Yeah,” he breathes, watching it twinkle at him, swaying beneath her legs. “Yeah, I like it.”

He sees a shiver run through her body, and he realizes she's covered in gooseflesh. It's chilly in the room, he realizes; not cold, but it can't be comfortable, being naked in it, being still. He thinks about how long she must have been lying here waiting for him and his cock gives another twitch.

He realizes he hasn't said anything in several minutes, and his gaze leaps up to meet her eyes. Slowly, very slowly, she unlinks her ankles, and begins to slide her knee up the bed past her side. He does whimper, this time, as the movement opens her up, reveals her trimmed hair, her soft pink pussy, the skin stretched taut around the buttplug. Her red cheeks belie her nervousness, but he couldn't tell it from her expression.

She raises an eyebrow.

“What're you waiting for, Daddy?”

His body nearly tips over and his eyes leap to hers.

“Told you not to call me that,” he growls.

“I know,” she says. Her eyes sparkle. “Not such a good girl, am I?”

Daryl doesn't answer her; he lets his eyes run the length of her tiny body, from her slim shoulders to her flared hips to her glistening pussy, her pointed feet. He begins to toe off his boots and socks. Her grin only widens.

“You'd best watch yourself,” he says, low, dangerous, in that way he knows makes her shake. She doesn't twitch, but he sees how tight her muscles are, the way her buttocks pull in on themselves. It can't be comfortable, he thinks, having that thing inside her, when she's so tight; and in a wave of heat that nearly bowls him off his feet, he knows what he's going to do to her.

He isn't tired anymore.

“Or what?” She spreads her knees farther. He can see a drop of liquid roll from her cunt, drip onto the white sheets. _“Daddy?”_

In a flash, he's stepped forward to press a hand to the back of her neck, shove her face into the bed. A little gasp escapes her and he feels himself grow harder.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers. He releases her and stands straight. He notes how her head curls so she can look at him.

“Please, Daddy,” she murmurs, wiggling on the sheets. “It hurts down there.”

“It's gonna,” he says, looking at her until she shivers. He brings his hands to the buttons of his shirt. “Look ahead, girl.”

She does, but slowly, making it clear she does it of her own will, not his; and he feels that strange kind of anger build inside him. Not the explosive fire he's known his whole life; has spent the past few years trying to tame, to temper, to understand and channel into something that makes him stronger. No, this is not that. This is power. This is something like ice.

“You're shit at this game, Beth,” he says, slipping his shirt and vest off his shoulders. He makes sure she hears them drop to the floor.

“Mmmh, I don't know about that,” she says, peeking through her hair, looking at the bulge in his pants. “I'd say I'm doing pretty good.”

Daryl shivers as she wags her hips again, swaying side to side as she grins and he hopes he knows what she's asking for.

He glares at her until she faces forward again, then quickly undoes his belt and shoves his pants and boxers to the floor. He hisses loudly as his cock hits the chill air and he sees her shiver at the noise. Despite the quiver running through his entire body, he forces himself to take his time; when he sees her begin to peek again he lunges forward and grabs the ankle of her bent leg, squeezing tight enough to bruise and yanking it straight, making her squeak.

“You gonna listen to me?” he asks, spreading her straight legs wide. He has to bite his lip against groaning as he gazes at her swollen lips. She's practically trembling at this point.

“I dunno, Daddy,” she whispers, burying her face in the blanket. “You're scaring me.”

The shot of pure lust that shoots through Daryl makes his hand tighten. She whimpers a little at the pressure, shifting her leg to try and release it, but he only squeezes tighter, digging in his nails before letting go abruptly. She sighs loudly when he lets go to kick the rest of the way out of his jeans. Her whole body tenses when she feels the bed tip under his weight; planting his knees and spreading her legs even wider, he kneels behind her, gazing at the sloping back before him.

“Don't wanna scare you, baby,” he whispers, laying a hand in the small of her back and smoothing it up towards her shoulders. She sighs as he leans across her to add his other hand, working his thumbs into the base of her neck and feeling the softness of her skin, the anticipation in her muscles. He tries to ignore the heat radiating from her core, just inches from his knees; tries to ignore the shock of cold plastic against his thigh, the way she twitches when he bumps the plug. Despite the feast before him he can't stop staring at it, sitting like a crown at the top of her cunt, and it's with his eyes on her ass that he leans forward to suck the knob of her neck into his mouth.

“Oh,” she sighs, rubbing her face into the sheets as he kisses across her shoulders, pausing to nip at her neck before licking a path down the curve of her spine. His hands are planted on either side of her, biceps bulging as he holds himself up, pinkies brushing feather-light against the sides of her ribs. She rocks a little on the bed, trying to relieve the pressure on her nipples, no doubt. Daryl pulls his mouth off of her, and as she begins to tense in anticipation he plants a hand between her shoulder blade and shoves hard.

“Ahh!” she gasps.

“You fucking stay still,” he growls. When she doesn't answer, he shoves her again, making her grunt this time. “You hear me, cunt?” he asks, remembering one of her whispers.

She shivers violently at the name, curling her hands into the sheets. “Yes, Daddy,” she whispers.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, relaxing his hand to stroke soothingly across her back. She's still shaking a little and he pauses, looking down at her slight form. “Beth?”

She must notice his change in tone, for she pushes the hair out of her face so she can look up at his concern.

She smiles in a way that makes his heart thump. Her eyes are soft. “Moonshine, Daryl. I remember.”

“Okay. Okay.” Daryl takes a deep breath, then leans in to kiss her cheek quick, gentle. Then he rears up, takes another breath; presses into the dip of her spine with a finger, feels the ridges of it, drifts towards her head. Beth lies with her cheek against the sheets, eyes closed. Her eyelashes make little shadows against the white as she sighs in contentment.

Without a change of expression Daryl sinks his hand into Beth's hair and _yanks_ —the yelp she makes goes straight to his groin.

“Little girl wants something?” he growls, bending forward to brush her ear. His grip on her hair has bent her spine almost as far as it will go; her arms strain to hold her torso up. With his free hand he grabs her wrist and yanks it back; she yelps again, dropping to her elbow, gasping in pain.

“Yes, Daddy, please,” she gasps out. He can see her eyes squeezed tight from where he arches her head back; her little teeth worry her lip.

“What does she want?”

“Make it feel better, Daddy.”

“What? This?” He gives her hair another yank, and her groan this time is low, thrumming, vibrating through him.

“Where it's wet, Daddy. It's so wet...”

“It better fucking be.” He releases her hair to slap her ass, enjoying her gasp as she collapses onto the bed. Loosening his grip, he lets her wrist slip from his hand, and she brings it back near her face, stretching the joint. “Ya had enough?”

“You haven't _done_ anything yet.”

Daryl shoves his knees into her already stretched thighs, pushing them wider. He ignores the way her spine arches in pain, focusing instead on his prize—her gorgeous, round ass, fuzzed like a peach and just as succulent as he rests his hands on her cheeks, squeezing them together and then pulling them apart, kneading them harshly as he stares at the jewel, her wetness soaking the sheets. And she is _soaking_ them, liquid practically flowing from her cunt, muscles clenching as she pants. Daryl leans down and kisses the very top of her ass, right where the crease begins. Beth arches into it, humming in approval. The hand not resting on her ass lowers to tickle her lips, stroke through the short hair and brush the flesh underneath, so wet it sticks to his fingers when he pulls them back.

“How long you been like this? How long you wait for me?”

“Long time, Daddy,” Beth whispers.

“You come yet?”

She stretches back against him, tilting her cunt towards his face.

“What do you think?”

Daryl almost barks out a laugh; settles for sinking his teeth into her ass, lets her moan vibrate through his chest.

“Fucking shameless,” he murmurs against her. She hums in agreement, and then in approval as his fingers quit their teasing and dip between her lips, reaching forward to tap her clit before pulling back to circle her entrance. She's practically quivering with want, labia shining red and begging for him.

He makes one last sweep before sinking his middle finger into her and _fuck_ is she tight, the plug stretching her already taut body. He can feel the rubber through her walls; presses his finger against it and grins when she writhes. He twists his wrist so his thumb can reach her clit, gives it a stroke just to feel her tremble. He leans across her, pushing her body into the mattress so he can hiss in her ear.

“Baby girl want it here?”

She pauses before answering, and he's just pulling his hand away when she bucks back against him.

“Yes, yes!”

“Too bad,” he whispers, stroking his fingers against her to the rhythm of his words. “You ain't good enough for my cock in your cunt. Waiting here like a fucking whore, open for whoever walks in.”

“Please, Daddy, I want it.”

“No,” he coos, excitement building in his chest at the way she shakes, her walls fluttering around him. “You coming just from this? My fingers in your cunt?”

“I dunno, Daddy. It feels funny.”

He almost bursts into laughter again. In a million years, he never imagined he'd be in bed with her like this, but God it feels right.

“How's it feel, baby?”

“Like... like I'm gonna break in half. Like, oh,” she rolls against him, clutching the sheets, “Like you're gonna rip me apart, Daddy.”

“That's right,” he growls, rubbing at her clit once, twice, before withdrawing.

Her loud whine earns her a brutal slap across the ass, his palm catching on the plug.

“You ain't getting it there, cunt,” he says. He re-situates himself, planting his knees yet farther apart and spreading her cheeks again, kissing just above the plug and licking around it, eating up her copper-penny taste. “Think I know where I'm gonna put it, though...”

“No Daddy, not there—“

“Shut up,” he growls, sinking his short nails into her cheeks. His filthy hands are rubbing off on her, he realizes; her skin is stained with dirt and flaking blood and it makes something in his head begin to tick, something dangerous, something dark, and as he pulls out the plug to see her gaping in front of him, shiny with lube and ready, he has to close his eyes and swallow to keep from flying apart himself.

“Daddy?”

“You don't fucking listen, do you?” he growls, planting a hand on her thigh and reaching the other between her legs, gathering up her sopping wet to smear across his cock, stroke it loudly, making it squelch. The backs of her thighs are blushed and shaking, and he can see her cunt muscles flex when he raises himself up to rub his cock between her lips. “What you want?”

“Want you to put it in me,” she pants, burying her face in the sheets.

“Put _what, where_ , bitch?”

“I want your cock in my ass, oh please—“

She makes a loud sound at the back of her throat as she feels the head of him bump against her back entrance; it turns into a long, drawn out whine as he sinks inside her, panting, eyes glued to the glory in front of him—the white skin of her ass, red with its stretch and shimmery with fluid, bulging with his cock shoved inside of her. It stirs something primal in him, the way his movements manipulate her flesh, like he's crawled inside her and taken her apart.

She's full-on shaking now, vibrating like a toy against him, and he feels a twinge of concern until she _squeezes_ him, hard, forcing a ragged gasp from his throat and shoving his hand down on her head, flattening her to the mattress.

“Nice try, bitch,” he hisses, holding her still as he situates himself again, sinks in a bit more, bares his teeth against the sound and the feel of her squeezing his cock to near pain. They've done this a few times but it's always been after a few rounds of him preparing her with his hands and mouth, sitting her in his lap and letting her ride. This is something else; this is different; this is his cock in her ass and her small body shadowed beneath him, shaking. “It hurt, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers, tears in her voice.

“I'll make it feel good,” he whispers. He kisses the knob of her spine again, and begins to move.

It's torturous, going slow, but he doesn't think he could do anything else, the way his balls are pounding, the way her walls hug him like a constricting snake. He can see her jaw working from where she's pressed into the bed, and he feels the muscles in her back and ass clench as she fights the urge to buck back against him.

He left her once, when they were playing this game and she responded too early; pulled from her cunt and finished across her belly, stayed with her the rest of the night to be sure she didn't finish herself off. She'd pounced on him in the shower the next morning; pulling the feet out from under him until they both collapsed to the floor and she could ride him silly. He never imagined he could have this with little Beth Greene; his dick shoved inside her willing body, her frame trembling beneath him, begging for it, drawing from him the violence and the anger he's always seen as shame. He's ashamed of nothing, when he's with her—it's all this, them, this astounding joy.

When he's satisfied with how long she's waited, he begins to go harder, faster, and soon the bed frame is rattling with his thrusts and her squeals like a stuck pig. Her hands make claws in the sheets and he releases her head to seize her wrists and drag them back, clenching them in one hand. She cries out just before he's shoved her into the sheets again, then yanked back on her arms, making her arch. Her shoulder blades flex painfully as he pins her wrists to the small of her back and plants his other hand on the bed, looming over her as he thrusts.

“God, your ass is hungry, ain't it,” he pants in her ear, leaning on her wrists until she groans. “All you want's to be full up with me, full till you fucking fall apart—“

“Yes, yes,” she gasps, and the little girl act has fallen—she sounds like her and he sounds like him and it makes him bark out a laugh before he ducks his head and surges inside of her.

“Fuck, Beth—“

“Daryl, Daryl, Daryl,” she pants like a litany, like she's forgotten how to say anything else, like the words are being squeezed from her body along with the lube he feels running down his balls, staining the bed as it slams into the wall as he pounds into her, little ass bouncing and slim shoulders stretched and if anyone were to walk in they would think she had a dragon on her back, holding her down to fuck her.

But it's wrong, it's so wrong—he might be on top and it might be him inside her but it's her, it's all her, it's the clench of her ass and the squeeze of her fingers and her long pale back stretched like a feast as he grunts like an animal, lost, losing himself, consumed and subsumed by the tossed golden hair of Bethany Ann Greene.

“Daryl, please,” Beth whines.

“What, girl, what?” Daryl pants

“Let me—my clit, please—“

“A'right—a'right—“

He releases her wrists and lunges forward, making her cry out with the new angle as he hitches his knee beneath him to gain leverage and shove into her as her hand scrambles below her body. He knows the moment she finds her clit because she squeezes him, like a fist milking a cow and he gives a ragged, desperate cry as he convulses, filling her with his cum. She follows only moments after, coming for so long he has to hold her down and grit his teeth as she writhes on his oversensitive cock.

He balances on top of her for a few moments before lowering himself slowly, resting his weight on bent elbows as he enjoys the feeling of softening inside her pulsing body. Beth pants quietly beneath him, little back rising and falling against his torso. He smiles into the back of her neck, kisses her spine; she lets out a short, breathless laugh, turning her head so her cheek can rest on the sheets.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

“Hey.” He pushes the hair from her face so he can see her. Her face is still flushed, her eyes gleaming the way they only do after she's come; her mouth is open and soft and he leans in to kiss it, humming into her easy response.

“Wanna get off of me now?”

“Hmm, lemme think about it.” Beth elbows him softly and he laughs. He groans and pulls out of her, rolling to the side with a rush of air. He closes his eyes as the air blows cool over his slick body; he feels a tug on his bicep, and follows Beth up the bed to where she's folded the sheets back; easily slides in with her and curls around her, mindless of the way they stick together, the liquid still seeping out of her ass onto the leg he's put between her thighs.

They end up with Daryl's head tucked under her chin, his lips against her chest and her leg hitched over his hip. He can still feel her heat against him, but it isn't so insistent; more like a fire on a chill night; a light, a comfort, raising the blush of life to his cheeks. He sighs against her breast as she strokes his hair, presses a kiss to his brow.

“You want to talk about it?” she murmurs.

“What, the fucking?”

He feels her smile at his crudity. “If you want. I meant today, though. I heard what happened to Vinetti.”

“Not just him,” Daryl mutters, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Beth says. “I'm so sorry, Daryl.”

He shrugs, opens his eyes to slits and lets her pretty pink nipple fill his vision; with a stretch of his neck he presses a kiss to it before settling back in. “Weren't no one's fault,” he says. “Shit happens.”

“Doesn't mean it should.” Beth tugs softly on his hair and he looks up at her. He knows he must look a sight—dark bags heavy under his eyes, skin stained with dirt and blood and still-drying sweat; but the way she looks at him, he could be scented in lavender. She stares at him a moment, a small smile playing with her lips. “You're one amazing man, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl snorts softly, tucking his face back against her, humming under the stroke of her fingers. He feels like candle wax melting around a wick, cocooning both of them in its embrace. In the heat of her flame, the warmth, he gives in; he lets himself flow.

“Only for you, girl,” he whispers. “Only for you.”


End file.
